


Until We Get There

by mortalboykings



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, there's ONE nsfw scene and it's not even that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 04:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortalboykings/pseuds/mortalboykings
Summary: Grantaire squints his eyes at the three of them. “What do you propose?”Without pause and with feeling, Musichetta suggests, “If the two of you,” she uses her index finger to point between Grantaire and Enjolras, “can’t manage to lay off each other from now until the day of tryouts, then you,” she tips her head at Grantaire, “have to try out for the play.”No one can imagine a world in which Enjolras and Grantaire interact with each other maturely. It’s hard to consider the possibility that they could go even a mere five minutes in one another’s presence without bickering about something completely useless. They’re both insufferable when it comes down to it, but no one mentions this, because everyone wants to see Grantaire at least try.OR - Grantaire loses a bet and has to try out for the school play with Enjolras.





	Until We Get There

It wasn’t necessarily that Grantaire thought there was any way that he would win such a bet, but more that he hadn’t been very concerned about the result of the bet really amounting to anything. In retrospect, it may be the one thing he would ever admit he was actually wrong about.

 

It starts on the last day of November, at one of the _Amis_ meetings. It’s a Monday, and they’re meeting in one of the art classrooms as opposed to the tiny classroom at the other end of the school where they usually meet (mostly because the group had been gradually becoming larger, and the lack of personal space had been, consequently, causing extreme anxiety and claustrophobia for Joly).

 

There are unfinished portraits scattered across the room. The sinks and the tables are stained with paint. Paper mache art hangs from the ceiling, held in place by strings that are tucked under the ceiling panels. Most people would think it’s a mess, no system to everything, a clutter in every direction. Grantaire feels home, here, though, and it serves the purpose that the _Amis_ had been hoping it would.

 

Jehan is standing atop one of the old, horribly paint-smeared tables, on a passionate spiel about the upcoming tryouts for the spring play. Of course, it’s no surprise that their underclassman friend is a fan of the theatre. The surprise comes at the fact that Jehan has somehow diverted everyone’s attention from the topic at hand, and even more so from their ever-more-passionate leader.

 

Enjolras is now standing off to the side, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, accepting Jehan’s interruption instead of trying to bring the group back to focus. He knows the last few weeks of meetings has taken its toll on everyone, and thinks that it’s probable that everyone had already been distracted, as, he believes, happens to most students in the span of time between Thanksgiving break and Christmas break (excluding Enjolras himself, of course, because it’s impossible for him to be distracted from his most pertinent goal, which is changing the world and the minds of all the people within it). He notices that Grantaire has taken a break from scribbling on the table with his pen, and is actually leaning forward on his elbows, interested in what’s being said for once. There’s also a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and Enjolras has the mind to have a bad feeling about this (which is something Enjolras seems to frequent, anytime Grantaire does anything, ever).

 

As if he was reading Enjolras’ mind, Jehan stops abruptly mid-speech, making eye contact with Grantaire. “What? What’s that face for?”

 

The accused shrugs, tilting his head at the accuser in amusement. “Nothing, just that… I don’t see the point.” This isn’t surprising, wouldn’t be surprising. The lack of surprise would be evident independent of the topic at hand, because, being the nihilist he is, Grantaire never really sees the point in anything.

 

Everyone shifts in their seats to look at Grantaire, and then Enjolras when he scoffs loudly.

 

“I’m beginning to think that you are incapable of finding meaning in anything,” Enjolras criticizes, arms still crossed in irritation, but his expression is softer.

 

“You can’t tell me that you _of all people_ care about theatre, _of all things_ , when you have the entire world to save?” Although, Grantaire thinks, their leader has made it clear, probably unintentionally, that he’s close to being the most theatrical person on the planet. Anyone who’s seen the way he talks about anything would know that. He could probably wax poetic about the importance of including fruits and vegetables in one’s daily diet, and leave someone crying about it, or have people emailing him about how touched they were by what he said.

 

Enjolras veers his gaze, very noticeably, from Grantaire’s face to the ceiling, which, this is new, because their fearless leader’s weapon of choice is, more often than not, aggressive eye contact (there’s an undeniable fire in his eyes when he’s getting passionate about something). “Well, I actually appreciate the fine arts quite a lot.”

 

“He’s even trying out for the play!” Jehan shouts excitedly from the front of the room.

 

Everyone practically chokes, thinking that making any type of comment about it is probably not in their best interest, so they bite the impending comments back to the best of their abilities. Everyone but Bahorel is successful in doing so.

 

“You’re doing _what_?” Bahorel basically screams it, even though he’s less than ten feet from the person he’s yelling at.

 

It occurs to most of the group that the blatant lack of eye contact is a result of Enjolras being horribly embarrassed, which, until the current moment, most of them had thought was impossible (except for Combeferre and Feuilly, who have known their leader since childhood and seen him in just about every situation).

 

Enjolras, while his expression remains calm and collected, has gone almost entirely red at being exposed in such a way. He briefly thinks of Jehan as a traitor, but knows that he hadn’t said anything for the sake of being antagonizing.

 

Before he has a chance to reply, Grantaire chimes in. “Oh, that’s really grand.” He’s saying this through fits of laughter, which he doesn’t even have the basic decency to try and repress. “Our almighty leader in the school play.”

 

Low snickers can be heard around the group. This is how Enjolras and Grantaire always interact with one another; reckless disputes over the most futile of things. Grantaire argues just for the sake of getting on Enjolras’ nerves (there are rumors going around the group, none of which have reached the two of them, that Grantaire gets off at the thought of vexing Enjolras). Enjolras argues for the sake of, well, no one’s quite sure, but it’s likely just to prove that there’s nothing he _can’t_ argue about. Although, there’s an unmistakable difference in Enjolras’ face when he’s arguing with Grantaire; all the hard lines go soft somehow, and it’s obvious that he’s dragging the argument on for the sole purpose of interacting with Grantaire for as long as he possibly can.

 

Joly, clearly more at ease in the new setting, for some reason raises his hand to speak. Grantaire gestures for him to do so, although entirely unnecessary because he’d already started talking. “Um, Enjolras does the plays every year. And the musicals. You should hear the voice on that man. I mean, not that you guys haven’t heard his voice. I’m sure we can all agree we’ve heard the voice on that man, but what I mean is-”

 

“The man sings like a motherfucking angel,” Courfeyrac interrupts, gazing at Enjolras in faux awe.

 

Enjolras is creating all new shades of red in the blush spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. “I don’t- That’s not.” He takes a breath and rolls his eyes. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

 

Grantaire laughs, just one sharp note, and throws his head back. “Sorta hypocritical of you to say, don’t you think? Y’know, considering that your middle name is ‘exaggeration,’ yeah?”

 

Someone whispers, “Did we just finally find out Enjolras’ middle name?”

 

Then, with no warning, and having little to no pertinence to the topic at hand whatsoever, Jehan shrieks, “ _Grantaireshouldtryoutfortheplay!_ ” from his perch atop the table, making absolutely no distinction between the words he’s said, but everyone gets it.

 

“What the hell makes you think that I-” Grantaire starts, but is interrupted when Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly (the three of them all seated directly in front of Grantaire, straddling the backs of their chairs, and leaning towards him) simultaneously say, “Wanna bet?” Any normal person would be able to turn down such a childish offer, but it’s Grantaire, and gambling is his weakness, so he’s intrigued.

 

He squints his eyes at the three of them. “What do you propose?”

 

Without pause and with feeling, Musichetta suggests, “If the two of you,” she uses her index finger to point between Grantaire and Enjolras, “can’t manage to lay off each other from now until the day of tryouts, then you,” she tips her head at Grantaire, “have to try out for the play.”

 

No one can imagine a world in which Enjolras and Grantaire interact with each other maturely. It’s hard to consider the possibility that they could go even a mere five minutes in one another’s presence without bickering about something completely useless. They’re both insufferable when it comes down to it, but no one mentions this, because everyone wants to see Grantaire at least try.

 

In answer, Grantaire spits in his palm and offers his hand to Bossuet, because out of the three of the _Amis_ that proposed the bet in the first place, Bossuet is the only one who would gladly partake in a spit-shake to seal the deal.

 

Bossuet grins, in something like victory, and spits in his palm, taking Grantaire’s extended hand in his own, ignoring mutters of _Oh, gross_ and _Get a room_ from Joly and Musichetta.

 

Most of everyone in the room erupts into cheer, happy to have something to distract them for the next three weeks until break starts. Most of everyone except Enjolras. And Combeferre, who hasn’t said a single word the entire meeting. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he mutters, “This is going to end catastrophically.”

 

Enjolras sighs and nods in agreement. The air is electric; everyone’s excited to see how the next few weeks pan out. Enjolras doesn’t bother trying to get the meeting back on track, because Jehan derailed it beyond the point of return as soon as he pulled himself up onto that table.

 

He dismisses everyone, and hopes that the bet doesn’t affect their productivity over the next few weeks.

 

It’s a senseless thing to hope for.

 

***

 

For the first two weeks after the bet has been proposed, everyone is surprised by how Grantaire is handling things. He starts to offer meaningful ideas and opinions during the _Amis’_ two weekly meetings, instead of doodling on his right arm like he usually does.

 

This part of Grantaire’s new attitude is what takes most of everyone off guard, because his newfound desire to be involved was in no way part of the bet. As a matter of fact, many of the members are worried that Grantaire’s sudden involvement is going to hurt his cause, and lead to the bet ending even sooner than everyone expected.

 

The other change in Grantaire’s attitude mostly pertains to the way he has begun acting with Enjolras.

 

It’s hard to deal with Grantaire on a normal day, but it’s come to Enjolras’ attention that it’s even more complicated when the dark-haired boy is bordering on flirtatious, and has also managed to become Courfeyrac-levels of affectionate.

 

During lunch, Grantaire sits next to him, so close that their thighs are pressed together. Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s gaze lingering on the side of his face, and spares him a couple of side glances. Grantaire doesn’t say much, and he doesn’t have to. Affection is written in the way his body turns in towards their leader, in the way the corners of his mouth quirk up when Enjolras speaks. None of the _Amis_ are sure if Grantaire’s just putting on a show for everyone (because it’s definitely exactly the kind of thing they wanted to see), or if he’s using the bet as an excuse to act this way with Enjolras, although nearly everyone is leaning towards the latter.

 

“They look like boyfriends,” Feuilly whispers to Bahorel at lunch on Tuesday (the day after the bet is first enacted, and the first day of Grantaire’s facade).

 

On Thursday afternoon, they meet in the art room again (the new permanent location for meetings), and Grantaire has taken it upon himself to sit at the front of the room directly beside Enjolras. The latter has his hands balled up in fists on the table, and every time he says something, Grantaire gently lays a hand on top of his fist, and adds, “Personally, I agree.” This causes Jehan and Courfeyrac to burst into a fit of giggles, without fail, every time.

 

Enjolras doesn’t shake him off, doesn’t even seem bothered by it, just refuses to acknowledge him, even though he _really_ wants to (it’s in his nature to acknowledge Grantaire).

 

The entire situation already has him overthinking his every interaction with Grantaire, and it’s sort of miserable. Enjolras isn’t sure if he’s supposed to reciprocate, but thinks that it’d be best not to, since the bet doesn’t really have anything to do with himself, and the _Amis_ aren’t likely to overlook such a drastic change in the relationship dynamics between the two of them (Grantaire’s done enough change to make up for Enjolras’ lack thereof).

 

The following Monday, Grantaire is sitting at an easel in his AP Studio Art class, the only AP class he would bother to take (because it’s really the only one he ever stood a chance in).

 

He’s painting Eponine, who is sat on a stool in front of him. He has her posing so that one of her legs is up on the stool, on which one elbow is balanced, chin leaning on her hand, other leg dangling, and her other hand in her hair, her elbow elevated for effect. There’s something beautiful about her in the pout of her lips, in the pain in her eyes, in the way her hair falls around her, enveloping her. She’s a natural model, and Grantaire hopes that his paintbrush can do her any justice.

 

Musichetta is sat next to Grantaire, painting the same portrait, but their styles differ so greatly that their instructor almost definitely won’t notice that they used the same model.

 

Eponine is only there because she really doesn’t care about her Chemistry class.

 

“So R,” Eponine starts, “This whole thing with Enjolras…” Her lips make no obvious movement, and Grantaire has half a thought to suggest that she become a ventriloquist, but thinks it best not to, because Eponine doesn’t like to be told what to do, even as a joke.

 

“What whole thing?” He glances away from Eponine as her eyes shift to look at him, and he makes a point to become suddenly very invested in his piece.

 

“You’ve been very touchy-feely. Lots of fond gazes. Staring at his lips.”

 

Grantaire chokes, turns it into a cough. “I have not been…” He trails off, realizing that he’d probably been doing all of those things, albeit definitely not entirely on purpose.

 

Musichetta giggles from next to him, and it reverberates through the room like music, but she doesn’t say anything to help or hurt the situation.

 

“Well,” Eponine continues, “it’s not like we don’t all know you’ve been pining after him for _who even knows how long_.” Grantaire makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat, but Eponine doesn’t give him the time of day. “You have to admit, all your art these past few months has contained a noticeable, and quite frankly, annoyingly excessive, amount of blue and gold.”

 

Grantaire is at a momentary loss for words, mostly on account of the image of Enjolras that is currently running through his mind. Enjolras, golden hair glinting in the sunlight. Enjolras, eyes as blue as the ocean, or a moonlit night sky. Enjolras, the leader. Enjolras, like a god, in all his glory. Grantaire shakes his head, trying to rid the image from his mind, but it lingers for longer than he’d ever care to admit (as well as his accelerated heart rate).

 

Musichetta speaks up instead. “It’s not like he knows. The kid’s oblivious. He wouldn’t know if you went up to him, shook his shoulders, and said, ‘Enjolras, I’m in love with you.’”

 

“I’m not _in love-_ ”

 

“No one would believe that for even a second,” Eponine interjects. “We’re all secretly _very_ surprised you haven’t lost the bet on purpose.”

 

“Why would I?”

 

Eponine breaks from her pose for the first time to turn her head and look at Grantaire, an incredulous look written in her features. “Are you serious?” The look of uncertainty on his face must answer her question, because she continues. “You lose the bet, you try out for the play, you get the part, you spend four days a week after school rehearsing with Enjolras, need I go on?”

 

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He looks to Musichetta. “Who will help you paint the set if I’m in the cast?” Eponine’s idea has definitely piqued his interest, but he thinks that would be decent of him to at least try and pretend he has even an ounce of self respect remaining.

 

She gestures to the rest of the room, at the other art kids. “I’m sure anyone in here would be willing to help. Don’t get so entitled, kid; you’re not the only other student in this school who’s good at art.”

 

The thought plagues his mind for the rest of the day.

 

As if he didn’t already lack focus enough in class as it is, now he has images of him and Enjolras rehearsing scenes running through his head. It seems like every other situation he’s imagined happening between the two of them, save for the fact that this one isn’t nearly as far-fetched as the rest of them, and, yes, he is definitely considering losing this bet on purpose, just to see how far-fetched the events playing out in his head truly are.

 

He spends the rest of the day thinking about it, torn between wanting to save his last shred of dignity and wanting the chance to jump Enjolras’ bones. He wishes there was a way he could have both, but that may be the most far-fetched idea he’s ever had.

 

Grantaire is quiet in the _Amis_ meeting that day. He doesn’t even sit next to Enjolras. He chooses to have minimal involvement in the entire thing. Resorts to drawing on his arm again. He’s listening, barely; enough to know that they’re discussing what they should do to ensure that the kids who don’t have money for lunch still get a proper meal (they’d decided, after Grantaire had so thoughtfully suggested, that they should do what they can in order to make changes within the school before moving on to the entire world. Grantaire was dumbfounded to say the least, but extremely pleased, that they’d taken his suggestion).

 

Two minutes before the meeting is due to end, Grantaire stands up from his seat in the back of the room, slamming his hands flat on the table in front of him, as if the screeching of the chair against the concrete floor wasn’t enough to get everyone’s attention (he’s not really sure when he became so theatrical). “That’s a stupid idea. That’s not going to do anything to help.” It sounds over-rehearsed, almost robotic, but he says this in response to Enjolras so often that it’s pretty much his go-to at this point, and a sure way for him to lose the bet (and everyone pretty much accepts the statement at face value, because no matter how lovesick he is, Grantaire is still Grantaire). Enjolras is just looking at him, along with the rest of the _Amis_. “How could you even think that’s a good idea?” He’s saying it louder than necessary, so it sounds like useless bickering to onlookers.

 

The room is pretty much quiet, except for Eponine’s and Musichetta’s quiet snickers. Enjolras is staring at him wide-eyed, ears red, obviously caught taken aside by Grantaire’s interruption.

 

“Excuse me?” Enjolras cocks an eyebrow at him, more confused than anything.

 

Grantaire is quickly losing momentum, if he even had any to begin with. “Uh, yeah. No, that’s all I had to say.”

 

Enjolras stares at him for a long moment without saying anything. Twenty, thirty seconds pass and then he breaks the contact to address the rest of the group. “Meeting dismissed. Same time and place Thursday. Make sure to bring your revisions.”

 

Grantaire’s still standing in the same place as everyone filters out of the room. Bossuet shakes his head disappointedly and whispers, “I thought you were better than this.” Grantaire almost says _I’m really not_ but Bossuet is already gone.

 

Enjolras is still at the front of the room collecting papers, which have been scattered all over the place. The meeting must have been important, Grantaire thinks, with shame, although most meetings are (in Enjolras’ eyes, at least).

 

“Is that all you had to say or?” Enjolras doesn’t look up from the papers he’s haphazardly stacking.

 

Grantaire hesitates. “Yeah, that’s… that was it.”

 

Enjolras nods curtly and picks up the stack of papers, holds it against his chest. “If you have ideas, better ones, I suggest you bring revisions of your own to the next meeting.” He pauses, continues. “This means you lost the bet.” It’s not a question, just a statement, an acknowledgement. Without waiting for a response, he goes on. “Tryouts are in the auditorium a week from today. And Tuesday, if you don’t get to go Monday. You just need to have a monologue to read.”

 

Grantaire nods, in something like defeat, realizing what he’s done. “Yeah, thanks.”

 

Enjolras exits the room without another word.

 

***

 

Eponine comes over to Grantaire’s that night. The intent is to play violent video games and avoid schoolwork, but they end up laying arms length apart on Grantaire’s bedroom floor, passing back and forth a bottle of vodka that he’d stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet.

 

This is more or less how most of their time together is spent.

 

Eponine and Grantaire have been friends since long before either of them were roped into the _Amis_ (Grantaire first, then Eponine by mere association). They go as far back as Enjolras does with Combeferre and Feuilly, which is to say, preschool. Eponine’s father works with Grantaire’s; neither of them are quite sure exactly what they do, but they’re pretty sure it has something to do with numbers, but it doesn’t matter - it’s just how they know each other. Eponine likes to joke that if they hadn’t met until high school, they probably would have declared themselves as mortal enemies, or something along those lines.

 

The point is that they were each other’s only real friend for the longest period of time; Eponine gets Grantaire, and he gets her. A lot can go unsaid between the two of them without anything being lost.

 

“I knew you were gonna take what I said into consideration, but I didn’t think you were actually going to go right on ahead and sabotage yourself.” She pauses to sit up and fish around in her purse for a box of cigarettes and a lighter. “Also, can I just say… that was very weak. Of all the things you could have said? You might as well have just told him you think he sucks. It’d have the same effect _._ ”

 

“Shut up.” Grantaire sits up and knocks back the bottle of vodka, grimacing at the burn in his throat and his stomach.

 

Eponine has shuffled herself to the window and opened it to let the smoke out. She offers the cigarette to Grantaire but he just takes another gulp of vodka by way of response.

 

“I don’t know why I did it. I’m just stupid. It doesn’t matter. Whatever. I won’t get the part anyway so why does it matter.”

 

Eponine can tell the alcohol has made its way through his system, because that’s when he stops using jokes to make his self-deprecating comments.

 

“It obviously matters.” She reaches out for the bottle of vodka and takes a small sip. “You’ll be fine though. You always are.” When she looks at him, he looks unbelievably tortured. Instead of telling him that he should get ‘the embodiment of teen angst,’ tattooed on his forehead, she asks, “Is this situation really bothering you that much? I mean, things between the two of you have definitely been worse.”

 

He crawls up onto his bed and pushes his face into a pillow. When he rolls over onto his back, he elects to study his ever-unchanging ceiling as opposed to Eponine’s face. “I don’t want it to bother me, I just… wish that things could be different.”

 

Eponine sighs, because this isn’t the first time that they’ve had this conversation. Although it is the first time they’ve had this conversation with Grantaire’s romantic feelings for Enjolras out in the open between the two of them. “Things can be different. You just won’t do anything to change them.”

 

Grantaire groans, shooting a longing look at the bottle of vodka that he left on the floor. He’s too comfortable now, though, to move, so he leaves it. “Enjolras doesn’t-”

 

“You don’t know what he does or doesn’t want, R. Especially if you _don’t even talk to him.”_

 

“Maybe later,” is the response he gives, as if Eponine had suggested that he talk to Enjolras at this exact moment. Seeing the pitiful expression on he face, he makes the bold decision to change the subject. “Why are we drinking on a Monday night?”

 

“I submit easily to peer pressure.” She shrugs and gives Grantaire a sympathetic look, even though he can’t see it.

 

Grantaire runs his hands through his hair and rests them on his face. When he peers between his fingers at Eponine, she’s watching him cautiously. “What,” he says it with nearly no emotion.

 

She chews on her lip. “The two of you would make beautiful, artistic babies.” Eponine laughs wildly, and catches the pillow when Grantaire throws it at her.

 

“You are really not helping. Not to mention that’s not even possible.”

 

The look on her face is almost condescending. “They’re making great leaps in science these days, you know.”

 

He can’t help but laugh at this.

 

An hour later, when Eponine sneaks out his window (not a big deal since his room is on the first floor), and all he has is the darkness of his room to comfort him, he’s left thinking about what a domestic life with Enjolras would be like.

 

Grantaire blushes, which he definitely has no right to do, thinking about _domestic life._

 

To know one in particular, he whispers, “I am so wrecked.”

 

***

 

Minus the fact that Grantaire is overcome with extreme anxiety about tryouts, which are in less than a week but that he’s also done nothing to prepare for, the rest of the week goes by smoothly.

 

He thinks to ask Joly about the anxiety, but doesn’t know if that’s a topic he’s sensitive about or even open to discussing, so he decides against it.

 

At lunch, he still sits next to Enjolras. They’re still close enough that their legs bump, but Enjolras doesn’t acknowledge it. Grantaire refrains from doing anything that might look suspicious to the rest of the group, although he has a tremendous urge to rest his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. He thinks Enjolras has put up with so much of his shit that he probably wouldn’t even stop him if he did, which just makes the whole thing appeal to Grantaire even more.

 

To try and distract himself from his seemingly unending crush on Enjolras, he tries to think of some obscure 80s synth-pop song he could do a dramatic reading of in lieu of finding a monologue to read for his tryout. It would be a very Grantaire-esque thing to do, he thinks, and it’d serve his purpose nonetheless.

 

Early in the day the Thursday of that week, Cosette stops him in the hallway during passing periods. Of course, Marius is attached to her arm, but that’s just a side effect of being Cosette.

 

She rests her free hand on Grantaire’s arm, and the look of concern is clear in her eyes. “What’s up? Are you faring alright?”

 

Grantaire doesn’t see the point in lying to her, so he doesn’t. “Just stressed about tryouts. Not sleeping much.” The not sleeping much is more due to the fact that he is unable to stop thinking about Enjolras no matter how much he tries, and it leads to some things that Grantaire would, quite frankly, rather not discuss with Cosette and Marius, who are quite possibly the embodiment of all innocence and purity in the world.

 

She offers a gentle smile in return, but seems at a loss in terms of what to say next. “Oh, I’m… well, you’ll be fine!”

 

“Yeah, that’s what they’ve been telling me.”

 

“If it means anything, we’ll all be there to support you,” Marius chimes in.

 

And of course they would, Grantaire thinks, because tryouts are on a Monday, and _Amis_ meetings are on Mondays. And if they don’t have a meeting, what more is there to do than go and watch their friends try out for the school play? So of course they would all be there in the auditorium, watching from the balcony. The thought of it puts Grantaire even more on edge than he’d been in the first place, but he musters up a genuine thanks to the two of them anyway, because he truly does appreciate their attempts to comfort him

 

That day, during the _Amis_ meeting, Enjolras actually stops to ask Grantaire what his opinion is on what they’re talking about. His first instinct is to shoot back a very bitter, _Since when do you care what I think?_ Instead, he gives an honest reply, and the group is all nodding around him, agreeing with him or adding to what he has to say. In part, Grantaire’s addition leads the rest of the meeting.

 

He wonders if Enjolras meant anything by it.

 

On Friday, during his art class, Eponine strides in with a sheet of paper in her hand, determination written in the furrowing of her brow and the set position of her jaw, seemingly on a mission. To Grantaire’s surprise, she slams the paper down on the table in front of him. His eyes skim over it, and he realizes that Eponine has cut his work out for him.

 

“What’s this from?” Not that it matters, but he’s curious.

 

She shrugs “Not entirely sure. Some old horror movie, I think.”

 

He looks at the paper again. It’s a monologue. It’s no obscure 80s synth-pop ballad, but it will work all the same.

 

He’s suddenly filled with a tremendous amount of gratitude for Eponine. “Thanks, really.”

 

She rolls her eyes as if it’s no big deal (and to her, it probably isn’t) and approaches the stool she’d been using to pose on. “Let's get to painting, shall we?”

 

Grantaire laughs. “We shall.”

 

***

 

The parts of the weekend that he doesn’t spend sleeping, Grantaire spends practicing. On Sunday, he even invites Courfeyrac and Jehan over to help him (because they’ve been practically inseparable, even before they started dating).

 

It’s not until he asks for Jehan’s professional help that he realizes that he actually wants to get a part in this play. He’s thankful for the fact the neither Jehan nor Courfeyrac call him out on this, even though, according to Eponine, they already know about his infatuation with Enjolras, which means it wouldn’t really be a big deal if they _did_ by chance get curious about the nature of Grantaire’s request. He appreciates their lack of questioning nonetheless.

 

They judge his performances based on several different aspects (“It’s posture, it’s tone, it’s expression, it’s how you _breathe._ Nothing goes unjudged,” Jehan had said when Grantaire blinked at the wrong moment. Grantaire makes a mental note never to question the importance of blinking again, because they both look ready to scold him). Jehan takes notes on a yellow legal pad, and is much more critical than Courfeyrac, who is distracted by the art taped to Grantaire’s wall (they get distracted quite a few times when Courfeyrac gets too curious about the sketches, and Grantaire is more than happy to humor him, because art is the one thing he can talk about without thinking that he’d rather be asleep).

 

After several hours of rehearsal, and many distractions on Courfeyrac’s behalf (which Grantaire is thankful for), they decide to call it a day. Jehan seems filled to the brim with joy, going on and on about how much Grantaire has improved over the last few hours, all thanks to his help. Grantaire only offers Jehan a roll of his eyes, and orders a couple pizzas for the three of them to share.

 

Afterwards, they go back to Grantaire’s room and play some video game that involves lots of guns. None of them are very invested in it, and all of their characters get killed off very quickly. It soon turns into a competition of who can get killed the quickest, in the most ridiculous fashion possible. It leads to several heated debates, about what qualifies as ridiculous, and about whether less time makes up for lack of ridiculousness (or if more ridiculousness makes up for a longer period of time).

 

After a couple hours of this, Jehan is rubbing his eyes, saying that it’s time for his beauty rest. Grantaire just laughs and walks the two of them to the front door.

 

When they’re gone, Grantaire isn’t really sure what to do with himself. He’s bored enough that he actually decides to get some homework done for once. After that, he doodles the _Amis_. When he gets distracted and ends up drawing Enjolras’ hands much more than what may be deemed acceptable, he decides to call it quits, dropping his sketchbook on the floor next to his bed, and leaning over to switch his bedside lamp off.

 

The next morning, he wakes up before his alarm goes off (even though he hadn’t actually fallen asleep until well after midnight). He thinks he’s finally turning into the type of person that belongs amongst the _Amis_ , the type of person who wakes up before their alarm goes off and opts to get up and get ready as opposed to closing their eyes and desperately trying to get a few more minutes of sleep.

 

He figures since he’s awake early enough, he can definitely spare a few minutes before first period to stop at a local cafe, the Corinth, on his way to school. So he leaves a half an hour earlier than he usually would (earlier than he would even usually be awake), and when he gets there, a familiar face is emerging from the cafe with two drinks in hand.

 

Grantaire practically falls out of his shitty car trying to get to Enjolras before he disappears, although it seems Enjolras has already noticed him; he’s stopped walking and is now watching Grantaire make an anguished attempt to collect himself.

 

“Hey,” Grantaire says, going for nonchalant but his voice goes higher than what’s normal for him and he curses his own body for betraying him. He tries to repair. “Two drinks? You that thirsty or you finally find someone else worthy of submitting to the evils of capitalism for?”

 

Enjolras just blinks at him as Grantaire makes his way around the car to approach him. When Grantaire stands but a few feet away, Enjolras offers him one of the drinks.

 

“This is not for me,” Grantaire states, suspiciously.

 

“It can be,” Enjolras says, raising his eyebrows and again offering the drink.

 

Grantaire hesitates, but takes it anyway, feeling forever is his debt. He nods his thanks as he takes a sip of the mystery liquid. It turns out to be a piping hot cup of _hot chocolate_ (because of course Enjolras doesn’t drink anything with espresso in it), and he tries not to flinch when it burns his tongue.

 

He must fail, because Enjolras is quick to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I-” He stops, blinking at Grantaire again and Grantaire wonders why Enjolras has that incredulous look on his face, but he continues talking anyhow. “I should have warned you.”

 

Grantaire shrugs, tongue going slightly numb. “It’s fine. Not your fault the drink’s hot.”

 

They just stand there for a few moments, looking at each other, their breath escaping their mouths in puffs of air, because it’s the middle of December, after all.

 

“Well, I should get going, I don’t want to be late,” Enjolras mumbles as he turns to walk away.

 

Grantaire squints at him, then looks down at his phone to check the time to find that first period doesn’t start for another twenty minutes. The school is just a ten-minute drive from here, so Grantaire has reason to be suspicious.

 

“What, you walking?”

 

Enjolras frowns, then nods sheepishly.

 

Grantaire’s face seems confused about what it should do at receiving this information. His features decide to settle on worry. “You’re walking in this weather?”

 

“I don’t have my license.”

 

“Buses exist.”

 

Enjolras cringes. “I’d really rather not. I got a jelly donut thrown at me the last time I tried, and getting that out of my hair was not a pleasant experience.”

 

“I can give you a ride.” Grantaire says it before he can stop to think that that means he has to actually sit in a car with Enjolras, just the two of them.

 

Enjolras doesn’t even stop to think about it. “Oh, yes, please.”

 

Grantaire has half the mind to imagine Enjolras saying those words, but in a manner that screams desperation, possibly while clutching at Grantaire’s sheets? He shakes his head at the thought.

 

“Uh, yeah, okay. Yeah.” He looks back at his car. “Yeah, alright, let's go then.” He walks around to the driver’s side of his car, looks back at Enjolras to see that he hasn’t moved, and gestures for him to get in.

 

So he does, and Grantaire starts the car. He hopes that Enjolras didn’t hear the horrible noise his car makes when it starts up, but it seems he has, because he’s throwing Grantaire a skeptical look.

 

“Uh, sorry. She’s old. But she’s my _baby._ ” He pats the dashboard fondly as he says this and Enjolras actually breathes what sounds like a laugh. When Grantaire looks at him, the corners of his mouth are turned up.

 

_One small victory._

 

Grantaire starts driving, satisfied, and no one says anything for the first minute or so, and then Enjolras decides that he’s in one of his chatty moods.

 

“So, tryouts today. How do you feel?”

 

Grantaire, for once, doesn’t hesitate before he replies. “Actually, I feel really good.” He tells him about how much Jehan and Courfeyrac had helped him the day before, and Enjolras seems pleased with this. “How do _you_ feel?”

 

“I’m very confident.”

 

This response doesn’t strike Grantaire as out of the ordinary. Of course Enjolras wouldn’t be nervous about performing in front of anyone, wouldn’t be nervous about the impending judgement. He speaks in front of people all the time. He leads rallies in an attempt to change the world. Anyone who is so intent on making a change and being as political as he is, especially at eighteen, cannot possibly be nervous when it comes to this type of thing, Grantaire thinks.

 

Grantaire doesn’t really know what else to say, so he says about the stupidest thing that he can manage. “I didn’t actually think it was a bad idea,” he blurts.

 

Enjolras cocks an eyebrow at him, and Grantaire sees it out of the corner of his eye, and thinks that that eyebrow might actually be the death of him.

 

“Uh, the… the other day at the meeting. I sorta said that your idea sucked. I didn’t - don’t - actually think that.”

 

“That’s a shocker.”

 

It should sound sarcastic, but it’s Enjolras so it’s not.

 

“Well, I-”

 

“The only reason I say so,” Enjolras interrupts, “is because it caused you to lose the bet, did it not? So if you didn’t mean it, then why’d you say it? I highly doubt it’s because you lack the self control.”

 

Grantaire can feel his face heating up, and _god_ it was a bad idea to bring this up. “I, uh.” Enjolras is looking at him expectantly. “I wanted to try out for the play, actually, after hearing how passionate Jehan is about it. I thought it’d be weird if I won the bet and then tried out anyway,” he creates the lie as he goes.

 

“You lost the bet on purpose so you’d have an excuse to try out for the play.” It’s not a question. An acknowledgement. Enjolras does that a lot.

 

“Uh… yeah.”

 

Enjolras nods slowly, taking this information in. “Would not have pegged you as the theatre type,” which is surprising to hear from Enjolras, who would never admit to passing judgement on any person ever. “Well, not until I saw the way you acted after the bet was enacted. I think everyone was shocked that you were capable of showing me affection, even though it was clearly not genuine.”

 

 _Yeah, clearly,_ Grantaire thinks, as his face continues to deepen in color. “Uh, well.” He coughs, but doesn’t say anything further, and Enjolras doesn’t push him.

 

Instead, Grantaire reaches to turn up the music. To his surprise, Enjolras sings along and, _wow,_ Courfeyrac wasn’t exaggerating when he said he sings like an angel.

 

Grantaire really hopes that Enjolras doesn’t see him blushing.

 

A mere couple of minutes later, Grantaire pulls into the student parking lot, and they get out of the car without saying anything. They continue in silence the entire walk to the school from the parking lot (Grantaire wonders if Enjolras thinks it’s awkward, then wonders if Enjolras would even recognize an awkward situation if he saw it). When they are in the front lobby of the school, the two of them are about to go their separate ways to get to first period when Enjolras catches Grantaire by the wrist.

 

He really hopes Enjolras can’t feel his pulse, because it’s definitely sped up an unreasonable amount at the unexpected contact.

 

“Thanks for the ride.” Enjolras is staring into Grantaire’s face, and it seems like he’s searching for something, but Grantaire can’t imagine for the life of him what it might be.

 

He holds up the still-warm cup of cocoa that he’s gripping with unreasonable strength in his other hand. “Thanks for the drink.”

 

Enjolras smiles and lets go, and Grantaire is quick to miss the warmth that his fingers had provided the exposed skin of his wrist with. Without another word, Enjolras spins on his heel and heads in the direction of his AP Calc class. Grantaire stands there dumbstruck for another moment before he trusts his legs to move the way they’re supposed to, and heads to his first class of the day.

 

***

 

The day goes by quicker than usual, to Grantaire’s pleasure.

 

It isn’t until the final bell rings and he’s making his way down to the auditorium that the nerves start to hit him for the first time since Saturday. He tries stopping in the bathroom and splashing cold water in his face to see if it helps any, but it doesn’t, so he sighs, pegs it as a lost cause, and heads in the direction of the auditorium.

 

In the hallway behind the stage, kids are lining up, rehearsing their monologues, seemingly much more ready than Grantaire could probably ever be.

 

He spots Enjolras near the front of the line, and when he sees Grantaire, he steps out of line to approach him. “We can wait together if that will make you less nervous?” he offers.

 

Grantaire wonders how Enjolras can read him so easily, but pushes that thought to the back of his mind and nods gratefully.

 

They go to the end of the line, and Enjolras is more chatty than usual, and Grantaire wonders if maybe he actually _is_ the slightest bit nervous, because this is the longest Enjolras has spoken without seeking out a reply, and also the longest Grantaire’s heard him talk without mentioning anything that seems even slightly political.

 

The line moves pretty quickly, to Grantaire’s surprise. Although, once he really thinks about it, he’s not sure really why he’s surprised; it’s not like everyone is putting on a full length performance. Just reading a few lines and then exiting the stage.

 

When it comes time for Enjolras to go, he turns and puts a hand on Grantaire’s arm. He wishes him good luck, which is confusing because it’s not even Grantaire’s turn to go yet, but he thanks him nonetheless, and wishes him good luck in return.

 

Less than three minutes later, he hears someone yell, “Next!” and his legs are walking him to the front of the stage without him really thinking about it. He takes a few seconds to take in his surroundings. The seating area is so dark, and the spotlight on him is so bright, that he can’t really make out if there’s anyone out there watching him.

 

But then he hears whooping and a couple someones yelling his name, and he knows his friends are out there.

 

The only person he can actually make out is the director of the drama club, Fantine Fauchelevent, Cosette’s mother, seated alone a few rows back with a clipboard in hand. He guesses that when it comes down to it, she calls all the shots here and that’s why there isn’t anyone else here to judge him. He knows Miss Fauchelevent; she’s graciously hosted a fair share of the _Amis’_ last-minute weekend meetings at her house, and Grantaire had completely forgotten that she was the head of the drama club, and all of a sudden, all of his nerves fall away.

 

She offers him a gentle smile and tells him that he can begin whenever he’s ready.

 

So he begins, reciting the monologue he’d practiced so much in the last 24 hours _perfectly,_ making sure that he’s using all the tips that Jehan gave him, and he’s finished in what feels like no time at all.

 

His friends shout for him again, and Fantine smiles, telling him that the cast list will be up on Wednesday afternoon, before everyone is released for Christmas break, and that rehearsals will start in January.

 

“No callbacks?”

 

Her smile falters in the slightest. “Not as many kids here are interested in theatre now as there used to be. I don’t think there will be enough kids trying out that doing callbacks would be necessary.”

 

For some reason, this makes him upset, but he nods and exits the stage anyhow. He walks up the side aisle of the auditorium, and when he exits, he’s surprised to see Enjolras leaning against the wall immediately outside.

 

He claps slowly as Grantaire approaches him. “That was profound. You did really well.”

 

Grantaire blushes, and swallows, not sure why this keeps happening. “Thanks.”

 

Before Enjolras has the chance to say anything else, their friends emerge from the auditorium, everyone way more excited than they likely have any right to be.

 

“You both did so well!” Marius says.

 

Jehan is jumping up and down, and because Courfeyrac is attached at the arm, he’s jumping up and down too (probably so as not to dislocate his shoulder).

 

“My dearest subject, I taught you well… You’re basically a professional now. I only hope that we do not lose you to Hollywood, and the troubles that befall movie stars these days.” He’s still bouncing on his heels.

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t think I’m suited for Hollywood.”

 

Jehan seems to ponder this for a moment, but in the end decides that Grantaire’s word is not to be taken to heart. “We’ll see… someday.”

 

Grantaire rolls his eyes and laughs.

 

It’s already after five, and it seems everyone is ready to go home. It occurs to Grantaire that he should ask Enjolras if he needs a ride, but he’s already walking away with Combeferre, presumably to go to the library and work on this project for their AP Lit class that they’d been having extensive (and _boring_ , thinks Grantaire) conversations about during lunch over the past week or so.

 

So he goes off on his own, and it’s fine, because that’s how things normally go.

 

***

 

The next two days are a waiting game.

 

All of the _Amis_ are anxious to see the cast list, to see if Grantaire actually got a part. Although, Grantaire thinks, after what Fantine said about there not being enough kids interested in theatre, he thinks it’d be more of a surprise if he _didn’t_ get a part.

 

On Wednesday, when the last bell of the day rings, all of the _Amis_ run to Fauchelevent’s office, and sure enough, there’s a piece of paper taped to her door with “Official Cast List” printed in bold at the top. Grantaire barely has to look at it to see that his and Enjolras’ names are the two at the top of the list.

 

Enjolras seems abnormally quiet, but everyone else is cheering. Grantaire looks at him nervously, wondering if there’s something he knows that Grantaire himself doesn’t. He shakes off the feeling and joins his friends in celebrating, because, above all odds, Grantaire is excited about this (and everyone has seemingly forgotten that this was supposed to be a punishment for him).

 

There’s a folder next to the paper that has the cast list on it, and it has copies of the script for each cast member. Enjolras takes two and hands one over to Grantaire. There’s a soft smile pulling on his lips, and Grantaire briefly thinks that he would kill to see Enjolras look at him that way every day for the rest of his godforsaken life.

 

They all go out to a celebratory dinner that night, and it’s the first time in a long time that Grantaire has felt genuinely happy. He thinks Eponine, who is seated beside him, notices this, because she squeezes his arm and offers him an encouraging smile, as if saying, _I told you that you would be alright._

 

He can’t help but shoot Enjolras a couple nervous glances throughout the dinner, because they haven’t really spoken much that entire day.

 

But then he catches Enjolras smiling at him, even though he looks away as soon as their eyes meet. Grantaire still saw it, and he thinks maybe everything really will be okay.

 

***

 

It’s Christmas break, and Grantaire is so thankful to not have to wake up early the next day. The first day of break is Christmas Eve, and his extended family comes over for dinner. Exchange presents and whatnot. It’s nice, but pretty much as formal as a family get together can be, so he’s happy when they leave and he’s able to relax again.

 

On Christmas morning, he wakes up to his phone going crazy in the _Amis_ group chat.

 

From _Jehan_ , at 8:06:

MERRY CHRISTMAS I LOVE YOU GUYS

 

From _Courfeyrac_ , at 8:07:

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH JEHAN I MISS YOU

 

They continue going back and forth like that for a few minutes.

 

From _Combeferre_ , at 8:14:

You guys spent all day together yesterday, how do you miss each other?

 

From _Courfeyrac_ , at 8:15:

OUR LOVE KNOWS NO BOUNDS

 

From _Cosette_ , at 8:23:

Merry Christmas guys! Have a nice day :)

 

From _Bahorel_ , at 8:30:

It’s too early for this

 

From _Bossuet_ , at 8:32:

I second that.

 

From _Musichetta_ , at 8:35:

I third that. But Merry Christmas, guys

 

From _Joly_ , at 8:41:

To this day, no one has wished me a Happy Hanukkah

Excluding Enjolras

And it ended eleven days ago

 

Grantaire doesn’t find it surprising that Enjolras was the only one to remember and acknowledge Hanukkah. Everyone else is forgetful.

 

From _Feuilly_ , at 8:42:

I second Joly’s texts

 

From _Enjolras_ , at 8:43:

Happy belated Hanukkah, Joly and Feuilly

Merry Christmas everyone else

Don’t erase Jewish culture this holiday season

 

From _Bahorel_ , at 8:44:

Great, he’s even political on Christmas

 

From _Eponine_ , at 8:50:

Are you surprised? Also, Merry Christmas

 

From _Grantaire_ , at 8:57:

do you guys ever sleep later than 9am? this is ridiculous

merry christmas btw

and sorry about the hanukkah thing, j & f

 

From _Jehan_ , at 9:01:

new years party at my house on the last day of the year!!!!

be there or be EXILED FROM THE GROUP FOREVER

 

Grantaire laughs and puts his phone down. He’d gone to Jehan’s New Years Eve party last year, right after he had started regularly attending the _Amis_ meetings. Jehan had tried to perform some sort of ritual sacrifice with his goldfish as means of some form of initiation for Grantaire. No goldfish were actually harmed in the process, though, because Jehan started crying when he thought about holding a funeral for his pet fish and decided that Grantaire could be part of the group without having any sort of official ceremony for it.

 

He gets up, brushes his teeth, and doesn’t bother changing out of his pajamas, because he knows there’s no way that he’s leaving his house today.

 

After him and his parents open presents, they pretty much spend the rest of the day doing their own thing. The three of them have never really been big family people.

 

Later on, he gets a text from Enjolras, and is confused at first until he realizes it was sent only to him and not the group chat.

 

From _Enjolras_ , at 16:24:

Can I come to yours tomorrow so we can go over the script maybe?

 

From _Grantaire_ , at 16:26:

uh yeah, sure

any time works

 

Enjolras just sends a thumbs up emoji, to which Grantaire doesn’t respond, just rolls his eyes.

 

It doesn’t occur to Grantaire until that night when he’s trying to sleep that Enjolras has never been to his house, and doesn’t have his address (as far as Grantaire is aware). He figures it’s already late enough to assume that Enjolras is already in bed, so he doesn’t worry about it, and ends up falling asleep soon after.

 

The next morning he wakes up to the doorbell ringing. He lifts his head from his pillow to glance at the digital clock next to his bed, only to find that it’s not really morning at all, it’s half past one and _how did he sleep so late?_

 

He pulls himself out of bed, because the doorbell is still ringing, and his parents are at work.

 

When he opens the door, Enjolras is standing in front of him, looking gorgeous in the bright light of the winter day, and Grantaire thinks all the oxygen has left his lungs but then he remembers how to breathe and, no, yeah, he’s fine.

 

“Hi, sorry, I… woke up late. How’d you know how to get here?” He steps aside to let Enjolras inside, mostly because he thinks his legs will fall off if they’re exposed to the harsh cold air for any longer.

 

All Enjolras says is, “Jehan gave it to me,” and then he’s just looking at Grantaire with something like caution on his face, and Grantaire suddenly feels wildly underdressed. This is mostly due to the fact that he’s only wearing a pair of striped boxers and a white undershirt.

 

“Oh, I’ll, uh, go put some pants on.” Grantaire turns to head back to his room.

 

“You don’t have to,” Enjolras mutters, and Grantaire turns to look at him just in time to see a blush spreading up his neck. “No, I just… I mean, whatever you’re comfortable in.”

 

Grantaire can’t help it, but laughter pretty much overtakes his entire body, and Enjolras is turning ever-more red. “Okay, Enjolras,” and he’s shutting the door to his bedroom, still laughing, quietly now.

 

When he reemerges, he’s wearing a baggy vintage t-shirt and worn-out jeans, and carrying his copy of the script.

 

Enjolras hasn’t noticed that Grantaire has returned; he’s very intent on taking in his surroundings.

 

He’s currently looking at the photographs lining the wall of Grantaire’s living room. Most of them are Grantaire when he was younger. He looks mostly the same now; same dark, curly hair, same smile, same eyes. He even holds his body the same way.

 

Grantaire watches him nervously, because Enjolras has been staring at one photo for an abnormal period of time. It’s one of Grantaire in middle school, and he’s dressed in a baby blue tuxedo, smiling wide. He’s next to Eponine, who is giving the person behind the camera the most exasperated look she can muster. They’d gone to the winter dance together, platonically, their last year before they moved up to the high school.

 

“I’ve never seen you smile like that,” Enjolras declares, but he says it carefully.

 

Grantaire shrugs. “Things change, I guess.”

 

Enjolras frowns, apparently displeased with this reply.

 

“We should, uh.” Grantaire tilts his head towards the script in his hands. “We should get to practicing, maybe.”

 

Peeling himself away from the wall, Enjolras nods, a solemn gesture, and makes his way over to the couch. He looks awkward when he sits, Grantaire thinks, and maybe it’s because he’s not comfortable in this new setting (which is hard to believe, because accomodating to new environments is pretty much second nature to Enjolras).

 

Grantaire sits next to him, one leg up on the couch so he can face Enjolras, who is already flipping through his script, clearly looking for a specific page, and when he gets to it, he shows it to Grantaire so that he can flip to the same page.

 

Without saying anything else, Enjolras starts reading his line.

 

They go back and forth for a while, pausing to fix certain things, and it’s clear to Grantaire that Enjolras knows far more about the performing arts, because it seems that he knows exactly how to do every single thing, while Grantaire is more often lost than not.

 

They’ve practiced most of the scenes that involve only their two characters, and they’re on the last page of the script reading their lines, and Grantaire really wishes he would have read ahead, because just as he’s registering the direction on the page for his and Enjolras’ characters to kiss, Enjolras is leaning forward and placing a kiss on Grantaire’s mouth.

 

Even though Enjolras uses his thumb as a barrier to keep their lips from touching, it takes everything in Grantaire not to scream or flinch or run out the front door and not stop running until he gets somewhere where no one would possibly ever know that this moment ever occurred.

 

Although the “kiss” has happened, and been over for several seconds, Grantaire is still staring wide-eyed at Enjolras, and he thinks maybe his brain has lost the capability to function because he’s never seen Enjolras that close. His eyelashes had brushed Grantaire’s cheek.

 

Enjolras looks very concerned to say the least. “Are you-”

 

He just needs to remember how to breathe, and, “ _What._ ”

 

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

 

Grantaire notices the slight blush high on Enjolras’ cheeks, and it makes his heart flutter. “Uh, just like, um, like… what?”

 

“What? That was barely anything.”

 

 _BARELY ANYTHING_ , Grantaire’s brain is screaming at him.

 

“Did you not read the script beforehand? Or research your character?”

 

It hadn’t really occurred to him. “No, I… no.” He looks down to the page which they were rehearsing. Now that he actually looks at it in its entirety, the scene is very sweet but _oh my god the script is very specific about what kind of kiss this is supposed to be._

 

He thinks this play must be very modern, to include two male leads who are love interests who actually are scripted to share a passionate kiss on stage. Then again, he doesn’t really know much about theatre.

 

“Can we do this scene again? I thought it might be easier to do it here, just the two of us, instead of having to learn how to do it right in front of the entire cast.” Enjolras swallows, and Grantaire realizes that he’s nervous about this.

 

Enjolras. Apollo. Their almighty leader. Nervous about a scripted kiss, of all things.

 

And, Grantaire considers, it’s kind of cute that Enjolras wanted to practice here, away from the eyes of their classmates, for the sake of Grantaire’s own comfort.

 

So they do the scene again, and Grantaire feels slightly sick to his stomach thinking about the upcoming kiss, and then it happens.

 

He’s expecting Enjolras’ thumb between them, but no, Enjolras’ lips are on his, and Grantaire is slightly panicking, because he really hadn’t been expecting that, and he’s too busy trying to remember how Enjolras’ lips feel to reciprocate, like he probably should.

 

Enjolras pulls back, looking very perplexed. “You know you’re supposed to kiss me too, right?”

 

 _Yes, I know this, but it’s just that I have been spending the last several months fantasizing about this moment, about a lot of moments, and never did I think it would happen, especially not because it’s written in a script that we’re performing together. Not only that but you’re on my couch and you look beautiful and I really am just fighting the urge not to jump you right now,_ he considers saying. Instead he opts for, “Yeah, I know, I… forgot.” He wants to punch himself because of how utterly stupid that sounds, but he resists the urge.

 

Enjolras purses his lips in thought. After a few moments, he says, “Well, you were doing just fine with the lines. Actually, you were doing quite a fantastic job with the lines. So maybe we should just practice the kiss.” The way he says it isn’t in the slightest bit suggestive, but -

 

 _You sly bastard._ “If that’s…” Grantaire almost chokes on his words, “what you think is best.”

 

Enjolras nods, decisive, and Grantaire thinks this will probably be the death of him. Enjolras shifts closer to him on the couch, and their knees are bumping, and by the time Grantaire shifts his gaze from their touching knees to Enjolras’ face, their lips are touching again and Grantaire is dead, he’s really dead, and if he’s not dead, he’s melting.

 

Enjolras’ lips are warm, and soft, and of course they’re perfect like every other part of him. Grantaire has half the mind to be self conscious about his own lips but then thinks twice about it because that seems a little ridiculous.

 

Enjolras is pushing, one hand resting on Grantaire’s shoulder and the other on the side of his neck. He gently squeezes Grantaire’s shoulder, trying to encourage him to reciprocate. Grantaire finds it in himself to kiss him back, finally; their mouths are opening under one another’s, and Grantaire has to keep reminding himself that this is just for the play, it’s just for the play, it’s totally professional, and it means nothing because it’s _just for the play._

 

Grantaire finds it within himself to be embarrassed by how turned on he is. If he could go back in time and tell himself from a year ago that this would happen, he think the him of the past might have actually passed out on the spot.

 

Then Enjolras pulls away abruptly, and the two of them are extremely flushed, just blinking at one another.

 

“That was… better,” Enjolras tries.

 

They next time they do it, they practice it with the lines beforehand, and Grantaire is a lot less nervous about it now.

 

They continue practicing this particular scene for longer than is definitely necessary, but Grantaire tries his best not to think too hard about that.

 

Although, Grantaire can’t look past the fact that Enjolras’ lips are red and swollen, and he really wants nothing more than to kiss him again, and again, and again until the day he dies. He tries to say something, but his words get caught in his throat. His mouth is hanging open, and he watches as Enjolras drags his gaze very obviously from Grantaire’s eyes to his lips.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” he finally manages to say, quiet, in the most _gone_ voice he could possibly muster.

 

A smirk pulls at the corner of Enjolras’ lips, and Grantaire realizes he really does have the filthy mind of a normal teen boy. “I could go for a glass of water,” he opts for.

 

“That is definitely doable.”

 

Grantaire gets up and makes his way to the kitchen. He briefly considers stopping in the bathroom to jerk himself off but he decides against it, guessing that Enjolras would probably be able to hear his moans from the living room.

 

He goes straight to the kitchen instead, only sparing the bathroom door a desperate glance, makes up two glasses of water, and makes his way back to the living room, where Enjolras is now sitting cross legged on the couch. Grantaire hands Enjolras his glass of water, who accepts it gratefully, and downs half of it in one go.

 

Grantaire can’t help but watch how Enjolras’ throat works; he turns his attention to his own glass of water in an attempt to divert his attention.

 

They end up practicing earlier scenes in the play, and for the most part, pretending that all the kissing that had happened only moments before hadn’t happened at all. They don’t practice that final scene again for the rest of the duration of Enjolras’ stay, and he’s partially thankful for that, because he feels as if he’s already bordering on insane just from what they’d already done.

 

At around eight, Enjolras parts ways. The last thing he says before he leaves is, “See you at Jehan’s New Years party on Thursday?” to which Grantaire just nods.

 

Grantaire watches out the front window to make sure he has a ride and wasn’t planning on walking all the way home in the dark, and the cold. His mom picks him up, though, so Grantaire is unable to offer his driving services once again.

 

Less than fifteen minutes later, when his mom arrives home from work and asks him what he spent his day doing, all he manages to say is, “Rehearsing,” although, if she didn’t notice the blush that tinted his cheeks, it’d be a miracle.

 

***

 

On Thursday, he’s the last to arrive at Jehan’s party, at around nine. Not for any reason in particular, only that it took him an unusually long time to drag himself out of bed and convince himself that coming to the party was the best option.

 

“What the hell, man, the party started hours ago!” Jehan yells at him when he opens the front door to find Grantaire on his front porch, hair dusted with snow. He lets him in anyhow.

 

“Guys, Grantaire is _finally fucking here,”_ he yells when they walk through the foyer into Jehan’s larger-than-necessary family room, where Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are playing Just Dance, and the rest of the crew is sitting on either of the couches, drinks in hand, throwing popcorn at the three dancers.

 

Grantaire makes eye contact with Enjolras, who is sat at the far end of the couch, an empty space next to him from where either of the three currently in action were probably sitting before. Grantaire takes that space, anyhow. Enjolras just whispers, “Musichetta might kill you for that spot.” Grantaire just shrugs by way of response.

 

When Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta finish their dance, they all collapse on the floor together, out of breath, and in something like a dog pile. Joly lifts his head from its spot on Bossuet’s chest and wonders, out loud, randomly, “How’s a New Years kiss going to work between the three of us?”

 

Musichetta sits up, lips pursed in consideration. “Maybe you kiss Bossuet, then Bossuet kisses me, and then I kiss you? Or we all take turns kissing each other? I don’t know, really.” She looks off into the distance, clearly in thought.

 

“Cosette and Marius! You’re next!” Jehan exclaims, and the three remove themselves from the floor to make room for the couple who are now making their way from the couch. Musichetta shoots a dirty look at Grantaire, but he’s too busy thinking about the New Years kiss thing to be bothered by it.

 

Cosette will kiss Marius. Jehan will kiss Courfeyrac. Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly will all kiss each other. Combeferre will kiss Eponine, hopefully, because the tension between them lately has been unimaginable. And Bahorel will kiss Feuilly. Grantaire hadn’t realized until now that everyone in the _Amis_ had paired up (or tripled up) with just him and Enjolras as the exception.

 

It makes him nervous, thinking about everyone else kissing, and then him and Enjolras just sitting there next to each other, looking in opposite directions so as to avoid making eye contact. The impending tension sort of makes him sick to his stomach, so when Courfeyrac approaches him with a glass of wine, he takes it without hesitation.

 

The group continues to switch out who is dancing, and Grantaire finishes his glass of wine in surprisingly little time; when he asks Courf to fill it up, he does so without question. Grantaire pretends he doesn’t see Enjolras shooting him worried glances from his side.

 

Eventually, Grantaire goes up to dance, and he insists that he do it by himself, and everyone just watches him. He misses most of the moves, sheerly due to delayed reaction time, and he stumbles around a fair bit, because he’s had a fair share of wine by now. Close to the end of the dance, he loses his footing, and ends up flat on his back on the floor.

 

Feuilly laughs nervously, realizing that Grantaire’s had far too much to drink and it’s not even midnight yet, and him and Bahorel go to move Grantaire out of the way because they don’t trust him to do it himself without falling again. He protests loudly as Feuilly grabs his ankles and Bahorel gets him under the arms and they carry him to the side of the room, leaning him against the wall.

 

When Grantaire asks Jehan to fill his cup again, he shakes his head. He asks Courfeyrac too, but he seems to be with Jehan on the matter. After Grantaire asks Eponine, Jehan makes an announcement that Grantaire is not allowed to have anymore alcohol, and if he sees anyone go against this new rule, he will physically fight them. Grantaire scoffs, but accepts the glass of water that Enjolras hands him the next time he walks by. Enjolras only offers a small smile, and Grantaire can’t think of what to do in response, because he just stares down into his glass. Enjolras makes a noise of discontent in the back of his throat and goes to take back his place on the couch.

 

Halfway between Grantaire and the couch, he stops to announce, “I think it’s my turn to go. Solo dance?” Everyone stares at him in surprise; they had all been expecting him to sit out the entire game.

 

Jehan nods slowly, very obviously perplexed, and hands Enjolras the remote to pick what song he wants.

 

Grantaire isn’t paying much attention to the situation unfolding in front of him, until Enjolras starts dancing, and he’s doing it very gracefully. Grantaire isn’t so drunk that he doesn’t take notice of the look Enjolras shoots in his direction; his top lip is curled back, and there’s a fire in his eyes, and _did he just growl at him?_ He’s not sure because it’s over in just a few seconds and he’s back to dancing, and Grantaire’s head hurts because he can’t believe he just bore witness to that, and he’s also a little (a lot) turned on.

 

If anyone else saw what just happened, they’re not mentioning it.

 

When Enjolras is done, he’s very out of breath, and Grantaire’s a little out of breath too, but he has hardly any time to collect his thoughts because Jehan’s started yelling.

 

“Midnight is in five minutes! I’m turning on the ball drop.” He shuts the game system off and turns to the right channel.

 

The countdown says there’s just under four minutes left. Grantaire, although still intoxicated, has sobered up enough that he starts to get nervous, again, about the clock striking midnight.

 

Everyone is seated next to their lover (or lovers), ready for that magical New Years kiss. Grantaire is standing against the wall in the doorway, watching everyone from a happy distance.

 

They’re starting the countdown and everyone starts chanting.

 

“Ten!”

 

Enjolras stand up from his place on the couch. Grantaire’s the only one who notices this.

 

“Eight!”

 

He looks at Grantaire. Grantaire looks back at him, uncertainty clear on his face.

 

“Six!”

 

He’s beginning to stalk across the room. Everyone else finally takes notice of the spectacle taking place. No one knows if something should be done about it, because there’s this angry determination in Enjolras’ face. No one moves.

 

“Three…?”

 

Less people say it this time. Those who do are quiet, confused, because, is Enjolras about to ruin New Years? That’s what it looks like.

 

“One!”

 

Jehan shouts it, suddenly passionate about it again, but now Enjolras is right in front of Grantaire, his hands are on each side of his neck, and he’s kissing him.

 

Grantaire manages to kiss back, for a second, before Enjolras pulls away.

 

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Joly and Jehan both yell it, almost simultaneously.

 

When Grantaire looks, it seems everyone else in the room has forgotten about their New Years kisses. They’re all watching him and Enjolras, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, unsure how to proceed from this moment.

 

“Happy New Years,” Enjolras says it, without much feeling, and stalks away.

 

Grantaire blinks, shakes his head; the events that had just taken place obviously just having happened in his own head, because Jehan is yelling, “Midnight is in five minutes! I’m turning on the ball drop.”

 

The countdown starts. Everyone is excited.

 

But Enjolras isn’t moving. Neither is Grantaire.

 

They do make eye contact though, and are still doing so when the group shouts, “One!” and suddenly, everyone except for the two of them are kissing.

 

When they all pull apart, they begin cheering. Grantaire is too drunk to be excited, or to think that New Years means that anything is going to change.

 

He’s tired, but still too intoxicated to drive home, so Jehan leads him to one of the guest bedrooms.

 

He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

 

***

 

They return to school the following Monday.

 

No one mentions the fact that Enjolras is clearly making a point not to talk to Grantaire, or acknowledge him in any way. Grantaire wishes they would, because it seems they’re all at a loss for what to say if they’re not bringing up that very evident fact. So they end up stuck in a sort of awkward silence for that entire first day back.

 

On Tuesday, play practice begins.

 

Most of the cast have the majority of their lines memorized, even Grantaire (because he’d had nothing else to do when he got home from Jehan’s party, and he wanted to keep his mind off Enjolras, so he studied his lines for the remaining three days of break. This was probably the least productive way to get Enjolras off his mind, though, because he’s the reason Grantaire even tried out for the play in the first place).

 

Enjolras doesn’t speak to him at all leading up to practice, but when practice actually begins, they are both so in-character, that the previous tension that had existed disappears, to be dealt with at a later time.

 

When practice ends, they resume not talking to each other.

 

It drives Grantaire crazy, because he’s not even sure why Enjolras won’t talk to him. _Literally nothing happened_ , he thinks. Maybe that’s the reason Enjolras won’t talk to him, though? In the end, Grantaire concludes that that’s nothing more than wishful thinking.

 

On Thursday, Grantaire sees him during passing periods.

 

“Hey, can we talk?”

 

Enjolras doesn’t even look at him. “I have to get to class.” He slams his locker shut, clutches his books to his chest, and stalks off into the direction of whatever class he currently has.

 

Grantaire stands there, watching him go, and waits until he can’t see Enjolras anymore until he heads to his own class.

 

***

 

On the second week back, play practice is four days a week, Tuesdays through Fridays, so the Thursday _Amis_ meetings are rescheduled for Saturday mornings.

 

Grantaire’s usually dead to the world at the time that Enjolras decides they should meet, so it’s no wonder he wakes up at the time he’s supposed to be meeting them at the local cafe.

 

He throws on the first pair of jeans he sees and the sweatshirt that’s been strewn over his computer chair, likely unwashed, for the past several weeks, in little more than a slight panic.

 

He’s out the door less than fifteen minutes after he woke up, at the cafe in less than thirty.

 

No one really notices when he enters the cafe, except for Enjolras, who stops in the middle of his speech to stare at Grantaire, obvious distaste etched into his features. Grantaire slowly approaches the table, wondering if he should have just stayed home, but Eponine points at the open seat next to her, so he takes it.

 

Enjolras opens his mouth, presumptuously to continue whatever he’d been saying before Grantaire interrupted, but Jehan interjects.

 

“Oh my god, are you two going to die without relieving this sexual tension that we’re all being forced to deal with or are you two going to _talk about it_?”

 

No one says anything. Enjolras looks like steam is going to start shooting out his ears. Grantaire looks at his hands folded in his lap, unfolds them, then folds them again.

 

Enjolras just clears his throat and continues.

 

***

 

Things continue like that for a while.

 

Grantaire hopelessly pining as he had been, Enjolras giving him nothing in return.

 

During practice, when Grantaire isn’t partaking in the scenes they’re rehearsing,  he’s watching from the sidelines, observing Enjolras shamelessly, because no one is paying enough attention to him to notice that he’s being borderline creepy.

 

One day, he’s sitting at the edge of the stage, watching Enjolras rehearse a scene with a few of the other cast members. Grantaire is watching his mouth when he talks, his throat when he swallows, the flicker of emotions in his eyes and Grantaire thinks Enjolras might have the most expressive face that he’s ever seen. He watches his hands, when he clenches them into fists, when he holds one up to shush a cast member as part of the show. He can see Enjolras’ shirt shifting along with his muscles, and the shirt he’s wearing today is agreeably tighter than most of the other ones he’s worn.

 

An image flashes through Grantaire’s mind, of the day Enjolras had kissed him on his couch, but this time, Enjolras is straddling him, and Grantaire takes his shirt off, and is left to marvel at this man in front of him, with a body that looks as if it’s been carved from marble.

 

Suddenly Grantaire is so hard that it would be extremely uncomfortable if Fantine suddenly decided to do a scene where he’s required to act, so he quickly excuses himself to go to the bathroom to handle his situation.

 

He locks himself in the handicap stall, and shoves his jeans and boxers down around his ankles with more fervor than he thought possible.

 

He wraps one hand around himself, and leans his head against the side of the stall. He starts slow, but it doesn’t take long for him to pick up the pace (he’d love to take his time but he’s worried that they’re going to notice that he’s been gone for a very extended period of time).

 

Grantaire thinks of Enjolras’ jaw, his throat, his mouth. _Oh, god, his mouth,_ and he’s picking up the pace again, this time without even realizing it.

 

Grantaire keeps thinking about Enjolras’ mouth, tries to focus only on his mouth. He thinks of Enjolras, mouth wrapped around his dick, looking up at him through his ungodly long eyelashes, Grantaire’s fingers twisted in his blond locks, pulling just a little too hard, causing Enjolras to hum these low noises against him, and Grantaire’s getting close.

 

He’s going faster still, and he can feel the heat coiling in the pit of his stomach, and then the bathroom door opens and, _shit shit shit_.

 

He lifts his head from where it’s rested against the side of the stall, and tries to steady his breathing but it’s not working at all.

 

“Grantaire?”

 

Grantaire curses under his breath, because that voice definitely belongs to Enjolras, and his presence in this bathroom at the current moment is absolutely not going to help anything.

 

“Yeah?” He breathes it, and he sounds pitiful. He shakes his head at himself, ashamed that his voice gives so much away.

 

The concern drops from Enjolras’ voice, and he can’t quite make out what’s replaced it when he says, “You okay in there?”

 

 _No_. “Yeah, uh.”

 

“Fauchelevent wants us to do a scene, so she asked me to fetch you.”

 

“Oh, okay. Uh.”

 

“You sure you’re alright? Don’t, uh, need any help in there or anything?”

 

It’s then that Grantaire identifies what’s replaced worry in his voice. Amusement.

 

He basically shouts, “No! I’m fine!” even though he doesn’t mean to. Grantaire realizes he’s not sure if, and if so for how long, Enjolras stood outside the bathroom door before he came in, but if it was for any time at all, he definitely heard Grantaire making an embarrassing amount of distraught sounds.

 

“Okay, well. Come back to us as soon as you’re done.” He hears the door close and sighs.

 

Now that Enjolras speaking his name is fresh in his mind, it’s not hard to pick up where he’d left off when the bathroom door opened.

 

He wraps his hand around his dick, not taking the time to build up the speed this time around, and in only a few minutes’ time, he finishes, emitting a loud, choked up gasp and, due to an extreme amount of self control, nothing more than that. He does what he needs to before he exits the stall, and when he does, he finds Enjolras leaning against the door.

 

Grantaire stops in his tracks, eyeing the smug look on Enjolras’ face, and almost makes a comment about how he heard the door close when he left, but realizes the fault in his reasoning before he has a chance to make even more of a fool of himself. Instead of saying anything, he goes to the sink to wash his hands. When he turns back around, Enjolras is still leaning against the door and, no, he definitely hadn’t been hallucinating him.

 

Grantaire pushes past him into the hall, and stalks back to the stage. He can hear Enjolras in step behind him.

 

“You said you didn’t need my help.” He’s laughing before Grantaire even has a chance to reply. Grantaire wonders when he got flirtatious.

 

“I didn’t. I don’t.” This, he thinks, is a horrible time for Enjolras to decide that they’re talking to each other again, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thinks he probably should be.

 

They go back to practice, anyhow, and somehow it’s easier now than it was before.

 

***

 

The next day at lunch, Eponine leans over and whispers, “Did you guys talk about it?” to Grantaire, because him and Enjolras are obviously behaving more civil to one another, friendlier.

 

“Not… exactly,” is his reply, which isn’t false but isn’t anything close to the truth either.

 

She just nods, as if that was answer enough. For Eponine, it is.

 

***

 

Things go back to normal; well, as normal as things could possibly get after what happened.

 

They go to play practice. Grantaire actually feels confident about how he’s doing. He can see Enjolras’ confidence in the way he walks the stage, and it makes Grantaire feel even better, miraculously.

 

He watches Musichetta and the art kids paint the set, and they’re doing a fantastic job of it. Grantaire thinks that, if things had been any other way, he would have much rather preferred to be in the background with them than on the stage with the other theatre kids. But for the time being, he’s content at the front of the stage.

 

On Mondays and Saturdays, the _Amis_ meet, and Grantaire makes sure that he never shows up late on a Saturday again.

 

No one asks about what happened after New Years. Enjolras and Grantaire don’t talk about it either.

 

Everything seems okay, more okay than things have been in a while.

 

Time passes fairly quickly, and Grantaire attributes this to the fact that he’s busy every afternoon, either with the _Amis_ (they’re currently trying to recruit more members, because Jehan and Joly are the only two who will be left when the rest of the _Amis_ graduate in _less than two months_ ) or with play practice, and the fact that the _Amis_ all like to hang out even when there isn’t either of the two, so Grantaire finds himself with next to no free time (what free time he does have, he spends doing schoolwork, because, contrary to popular belief, he actually does want to graduate), after trying to balance everything else.

Before he knows it, it’s time for tech rehearsal.

 

It’s the Thursday before their first performance for a full audience, which means that Enjolras, Grantaire, and the rest of the cast get to miss class for the day, to try and perfect their performances.

 

Feuilly and Combeferre are on lights, Eponine and Joly are behind the soundboard. Musichetta and the other art kids have finished painting the set, and the rest of the _Amis_ have done an amazing job advertising the show.

 

The air feels electric, and everyone has put so much time into this, and they’re all excited.

 

They run through the play three times that day, and Grantaire thinks it’s a miracle that he doesn’t forget any of his lines.

 

Everything goes smoothly. Fantine is very patient with everyone, understands they’re tired after everything, and even has pizza ordered to the school for their lunch break.

 

Once the final bell of the day rings, Fantine excuses them, telling them to go home and get as much rest as they can, because they have another long day of tech tomorrow.

 

Grantaire gets up to go, but feels a tug at his sleeve and turns to see Enjolras standing surprisingly close to him. It’s hard not to notice the extreme height difference between the two of them when Enjolras is this close, because Grantaire has to tip his head back slightly to look him in the eye.

 

He’s still holding Grantaire’s sleeve when he opens his mouth to talk. “Can you give me a ride home today? My mom has to work late today.”

 

 _As if you need an excuse for me to say yes._ “Yeah, sure. Quick question though.” Enjolras cocks an eyebrow as a response. “Will you ever get your license?”

 

“Not for as long as I have you to give me rides.”

 

Grantaire tries not to overthink that as they exit the auditorium and head to the student parking lot.

 

The ride to Enjolras’ house is silent for the most part, save for Grantaire’s music playing quietly in the background, and Enjolras drumming his fingers (nervously?) on the dashboard. The weather is nice now; it’s early April and the air is permeated with the scent of flowers in bloom. The sky is clear, save for a few clouds, so Grantaire puts the windows down a little.

 

When they get to Enjolras’ house, he pulls into the driveway. He’s looking at both of his parents’ cars, very clearly there. Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ eyes burning into the side of his face, so he turns to look at him.

 

“I thought you said-”

 

“I lied,” Enjolras says plainly. Grantaire just stares at him, waiting for him to continue. “I wanted to talk.”

 

“You couldn’t have, I don’t know, said, ‘Can you give me a ride home? I wanna talk’?” Grantaire doesn’t say it harshly; he’s more confused than anything at the moment.

 

Enjolras takes a deep breath before he says anything else. “I just- I wanted to apologize. For how I acted after New Years. I was being really stupid, and it went on for an unnecessarily long time, and it was _so stupid_. At first, I couldn’t realize why it was that I was ignoring you, because you didn’t do anything wrong and so I.” Enjolras is rambling now, and Grantaire is just staring, trying to comprehend. “Seeing everyone else kiss at midnight… it bothered me, where normally it wouldn’t have, and I saw you just standing there and I… wanted to, but I didn’t, and I got weird about the whole situation and then once I figured out what was going on with myself, I stopped avoiding you because then a lot of things made sense.”

 

Grantaire’s trying to piece this together in his mind, but it’s not making sense.

 

“So what was going on with yourself?”

 

“I like you, Grantaire. Like, a lot, I think.”

 

Grantaire freezes in his seat, and lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, and Enjolras is looking at him, just waiting for him to say something, anything.

 

“Well, that’s. Uh.”

 

“No, uh, you don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. It felt weird keeping it to myself.”

 

“Oh. Uh.”

 

Enjolras looks concerned now, and a bit hurt. “Are you… okay?”

 

“Yeah. Yes. I just… I should go.”

 

Enjolras shifts his gaze away from Grantaire. Looks at anything but Grantaire. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.” He gets out of the car without another word. Grantaire sees him shoot him another look before he goes inside his house, and Grantaire doesn’t know why he just did that.

 

As he makes his way home, he wonders why he didn’t tell Enjolras that he felt the same way, had felt that way for him for probably the entire time that they’d known each other. He wonders why he didn’t kiss Enjolras, why he told him that he had to go home.

 

He wants to punch himself in the face, because he’s never done anything as stupid as what he just did, and there are a lot of worthy competitors for that spot.

 

It’s only three in the afternoon, but when he gets home, he eats and goes straight to bed instead of dwelling on the events that took place in his car in Enjolras’ driveway.

 

He wakes up from a nightmare sweating around two in the morning, and he can’t get back to sleep after that, so instead he lays there and stares at the ceiling, trying to think about nothing but, of course, thinking about everything.

 

Eventually, the sun starts streaming in through the window, and Grantaire’s alarm goes off. He can already feel that today’s going to be miserable. Tech rehearsal, plus the first show tonight, plus the whole thing that happened the previous day with Enjolras… equals disaster.

 

Things are slightly awkward between the two of them at tech rehearsal, and everyone notices it, but they still act as well as they had on previous days, so no one finds that it’s important to note the difference in the way they’re acting with one another when they’re not in character.

 

The day passes slowly, agonizingly, and Grantaire is extremely relieved when school lets out for the day. He has almost four hours before he has to be back for the show tonight, and he thinks it wise to try and get some shut-eye before that has to happen.

 

He’s quick to leave, so excited to actually get some sleep that he doesn’t even bother waiting around to see if Enjolras needs a ride home.

 

When he gets home, Eponine is sitting on the couch in his living room, which pretty much sabotages his plans for a nap, but he’s not horribly against her presence right now.

 

She pats the seat on the couch next to her. “We need to talk.”

 

He sighs exasperatedly; he’s heard that enough to last him a lifetime. He sits down nonetheless, without saying anything.

 

“What have you done?”

 

Grantaire is trying to think of how she could possibly know what happened between him and Enjolras, but nothing is coming to him. “Uh. What?”

 

Eponine punches his shoulder, and it’s not playful or gentle like it’d usually be. “Enjolras confesses his feelings for you and you _tell him you have to leave?”_

 

“How do you ev-”

 

“He told Combeferre. Combeferre told me.”

 

 _Oh, great. That’s grand,_ he thinks. “Does the sanctity of childhood friendship mean nothing to him? That he’d just tell you what Enjolras told him in utmost confidentiality?”

 

Eponine just rolls her eyes. “Shut _up,_ my god. You are even more of an ass than I thought possible.”

 

He shrugs. “What can I say? I live to surprise.”

 

She punches him again. He thinks he can already feel his shoulder bruising.

 

“Unless your feelings have changed all of a sudden, which I highly doubt, then you need to fix this.” He nods. “ _Soon,_ ” she adds. Eponine’s pulling herself off of the couch and making her way to the door. “Oh, and, just a suggestion, but I think you guys really need to find a better place for the spare key than under the welcome mat.” And with that, she’s gone.

 

He knows he has to do something, but isn’t sure exactly what it is that he should do. Everything that comes to mind requires at least an ounce of courage, which is a department that Grantaire is extremely lacking in.

 

He sits on the couch and debates this for quite a notable span of time, as opposed to taking the nap that he had been looking forward to.

 

He tries to talk himself out of doing anything at all.

 

_Maybe it’s pointless? He probably took what happened yesterday as a rejection anyhow, so maybe there really isn’t any way for me to come back from that?_

 

But he still feels bad, and thinks that, even if there isn’t any way for him to come back from what he did, it would still be a good idea to at least have everything out in the open.

 

So Grantaire leaves his house as soon as he’s ready, and ends up getting to the school a half an hour before the rest of the cast is due (because he thinks that of all people, if anyone else were to get there that early, it’d be Enjolras).

 

He’s taking deep breaths as he makes his way through the hallways, trying to calm the nerves that have practically taken over his body. A couple of crew members are loitering in the halls, probably hanging around just to make a few final touch-ups to the show. A few of them wave or holler at Grantaire as he passes, but he only makes a half-assed attempt to respond, because he’s on a mission and his mind is set on it.

 

Grantaire finds Enjolras in the dressing room, and his breath catches in his throat as soon as he sees him. He stops in the doorway to try and collect himself, but Enjolras has already spotted his reflection in the mirror he’s standing before.

 

Enjolras turns slowly to face him. “Grantaire.”

 

It’s all he needs to say to bring Grantaire back to himself.

 

“I like you. Like, a lot.”

 

“What?” But Enjolras is blushing, hearing his own words spoken back to him.

 

Grantaire is taking long strides across the room now.

 

“Actually, I think I’m in love with you,” and before Enjolras even has the chance to respond, Grantaire’s hands are on either side of his face and he’s leaning up to press his lips to the taller boy’s.

 

It’s slow, full of feeling, and better than any of their staged kisses.

 

Enjolras is kissing him back without any hesitation, and if Grantaire had thought he’d known what it felt like to kiss Enjolras from all of their rehearsals, he was _so wrong._

 

Enjolras kisses as passionately as he speaks; his hands are in Grantaire’s hair, his tongue is in Grantaire’s mouth, and their bodies are pressed unbelievably close together. Grantaire can feel every small movement, can hear each of the low moans that Enjolras lets escape.

 

“Hey, fifteen minutes til-,” Jehan is saying from the doorway before he processes what’s happening in front of him.

 

Grantaire pulls away from Enjolras with incredible speed, although Enjolras is quick to put his hand on the smaller boy’s waist to keep him from straying too far away.

 

“Oh, jesus. Oh god. I am texting _everyone_ about this,” Jehan’s phone is already in hand, and he’s leaving the room before either of the two of them have a chance to stop him, or even say anything.

 

As soon as he’s gone, they’re both overcome with laughter. Once they’ve both calmed down, Enjolras leans down to press a quick kiss to Grantaire’s forehead (it catches him off guard but he could definitely get used to it).

 

“Well, the show must go on, mustn’t it?”

 

Grantaire pretends to think about it. “I suppose it must.”

 

Enjolras extends his elbow for Grantaire to take. “Shall we?”

 

“We shall.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! This is my present to you.
> 
> Yes, Grantaire is left-handed. Maybe that was selfish of me. Maybe I don't care.
> 
> Title is taken from the song of the same name by Lucius (good song!).
> 
> I've been big into Les Mis for a long time but this is the first fic I've ever written. I really hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
